TAP. TAP. TAP.
The sharp blade came down with precision, slicing the vegetables into uniform pieces on the wooden board. A calloused hand held the knife firmly, the movements flowing with practiced familiarity, following a steady rhythm.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
The cloud of herbal aroma stood out against the golden, warm morning light that filtered in through the windows, dancing across the curtain fabric in soft motions with the breeze, which carried with it the scent of the garden's flowers, creating a welcoming atmosphere.
And it was into this atmosphere that Kanao Kamado silently entered the kitchen of her home, her mismatched lilac eyes shifting to observe her husband for a moment. He seemed deeply absorbed, focused on the precise cuts, but his gaze carried something distant, lost within his own thoughts. A few chestnut-red strands fell over the mark on his forehead, swaying lightly as he leaned further over the cutting board and picked up the pace.
The sight made one corner of Kanao's lips curve slightly.
"You seem anxious," she said softly, stepping closer to stand beside him at the counter.
The knife stopped mid-cut.
Tanjiro blinked, pulled back to the present after sinking deep into his own mind. He carefully set the blade down on the wood before lifting his face and smiling at his wife.
"I just want to make this special," he replied, clearly excited, tossing the chopped carrot pieces into the steaming pot before wiping the moisture from his only functional hand on the cloth beside him. "This is my favorite recipe from my mom, so I thought it would be nice, you know? To share these things with him."
Kanao picked up one of the freshly cut vegetables that had slipped away, observing the uniform precision of the cut. "I understand… But be careful not to make this into something too big. You know how awkward he gets with emotional things," Kanao said, her gentle tone carrying a soft irony. "After all, he keeps insisting he doesn't want a party after last time… but I don't think that's going to make you back down, is it?"
Tanjiro laughed, the warm sound echoing through the kitchen. "Absolutely not!" and then his voice softened into something quieter and lower. "Honestly, I still don't understand his hesitation after all these years. I know that beneath all the tough front, he really appreciates it, but I wish he would allow himself to lower his guard with us a bit more. Everyone deserves to feel special and get emotional on their own birthday."
Kanao tilted her head, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her. Sometimes, she was still surprised by Tanjiro's unwavering kindness. Beyond always trying to see the best side of everything, he constantly looked for ways to make someone he cared about feel special.
To her, he was like the sun itself, capable of warming even the coldest heart.
As Tanjiro turned to stir the pot, the soft sound of the stew bubbling filled the brief silence.
Kanao's mind, however, drifted elsewhere.
Sanemi Shinazugawa.
One of the last remaining Hashira still alive.
Kanao was not close to him. Their interactions were brief, made up of respectful nods and long, comfortable silences when they happened to be alone in the same room. A man with hair as white as snow and scars, whose posture still, most of the time, screamed "fight" even in moments of calm.
A man whose eyes carried a deep exhaustion, a void that only those who had lost everything could truly recognize.
How many funerals had he attended?
How many gravestones did he visit?
Whenever she thought about him too much, Kanao wondered whether he knew the numbers or if it was too painful to remember. Either way, she understood that particular pain: the pain of being the survivor.
She, who had lost her family, Kanae and Shinobu, her sisters of the heart, the people who had given her not only a home but a reason to live. All of them had lost something in the long battle against the demons, and the pain was like a phantom limb; sharp and constant, even after the long-awaited victory.
Did he, like her, dream of what it would be like to have the lost ones by his side after peace? She had lost count of how many times she had dreamed of having her sisters at her wedding.
They were broken mirrors of the same tragedy: he, an older brother without his younger siblings; she, a younger sister without her older sisters.
Kanao still remembered Sanemi's expression at the last funeral: Tomioka's. There were no tears, only a deep resignation, a loneliness that seemed embedded in his bones. She had watched from afar, holding Tanjiro's hand, and wondered if that wound of his would ever begin to heal the way hers had.
If she had never known love through another person, would it be like looking at her own reflection?
Tanjiro, being the optimist and loving soul that he was, believed the former Hashira's heart had a cure. He and Nezuko, with her warm stubbornness and overflowing affection, had refused to let Sanemi sink into his own solitude. They intruded, insisted, showed up with food or a simple "how are you?", chatting about the news in their lives. Any excuse to visit the older man.
And Kanao genuinely hoped it was working. That the tireless visits from Tanjiro and Nezuko, and even Uzui's relentless invitations to drink, had begun to fill that haunting void in the former Wind Hashira.
No one deserved to be alone.
"Let me help." Her fingers moved toward the knife, and Kanao began cutting a daikon, her movements just as precise and automatic as Tanjiro's. "Maybe if more people take part in this, he'll feel discouraged from complaining for too long."
Tanjiro smiled, grateful. "Thank you, Kanao. You always—"
CAW. CAW. CAW.
An urgent, piercing caw cut through the air, followed by the beating of strong wings. A crow landed gracefully on the open windowsill, its well-kept black plumage and dark, intelligent eyes watching the former demon slayers closely. It was a presence they already recognized.
"Dongurimaru," Tanjiro greeted Inosuke's crow, his smile still present, though now somewhat puzzled. "It's rare for you to come here. Is there a message?"
"Tanjiro Kamado. Kanao Kamado," the animal began, its voice somewhat rough yet surprisingly gentle. "I bring news under the orders of Inosuke Hashibira." The bird paused almost humanly, as if choosing its words with great care.
The air in the kitchen seemed to grow colder.
And then the crow continued, its voice low and weighed with unusual gravity as the news was delivered and—
The sound of Kanao's knife hitting the floor echoed like thunder.
She did not say a word. She simply stood there, her other hand hovering over the daikon she had just begun to cut, her mismatched eyes fixed on nothing, wide and unbelieving. All the serenity she carried evaporated, replaced by an icy void of shock.
Tanjiro did not move either.
As the information sank in, the initial shock on his gentle features turned into something deeper. His hand trembled slightly where it braced against the counter. The expression of excitement and warmth dissolved, leaving behind nothing but raw, unfiltered pain.
The silence that settled over the kitchen was heavy, absolute, broken only by the soft and now cruelly ironic sound of the stew bubbling in the pot.
30 November — 19XX
The sun had not yet risen when Tanjiro arrived at the hill with the others. The early morning still reigned supreme. A cloak of cold silence covered the world around them, broken only by the timid, experimental song of a few birds hidden among the treetops, preparing for the new day approaching.
To the east, the absolute darkness began to give way, dissolving into shades of sky blue and purple. It was an inverted twilight, a sigh of the world before awakening. Tanjiro knew that, within minutes, that same horizon would ignite in gold and amber.
He was not there by chance. Every step toward that exact place had been guided by Sanemi's one and final request regarding his death.
It had been on a calm afternoon, one of those when the sun still shone high but had already begun to gently lean toward the west. Its golden, slanted rays bathed the tall hill, stretching the shadows of the trees and warming the earth beneath their feet. The air was calm, almost still, carrying only a light breeze mixed with the scent of vegetation and the distant hum of insects.
Sanemi had not truly chosen to be there. Or rather, he had, but not without complaining at every step along the trail. Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Kanao had insisted on dragging him out for a picnic, and he, with his usual bad temper, grumbled that it was a waste of time, that he would rather stay home sleeping through the entire afternoon after reading something.
Even so, when they asked where they could go, it was he who led the group.
In the end, they all settled onto a large, simple blanket spread across the grass. The silence was broken only by the low murmur of voices and the occasional rustling of leaves.
After eating until his stomach felt heavy, Tanjiro sighed deeply and lay back. The sun, now lower, filtered through the leaves in narrow beams that danced across his face, warming his skin. He felt completely at peace in that moment.
Turning his head, a smile tugged at his lips when he saw Nezuko and Kanao a few meters away, laughing as they braided stems and flowers into crowns.
And in that peace, his eyes slowly began to close.
But a movement beside him caught his attention.
Tanjiro turned his face and found Sanemi sitting next to him, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees, staring intently at the horizon where the sun was already beginning its farewell.
The gentle wind strengthened slightly, stirring his white hair. The scars marking his face seemed even harsher against the late-afternoon light. The man remained still, eyes half-lidded, as if calculating something in the landscape.
Suddenly, the former pillar raised his hands before his face, joining his thumbs and index fingers to form a frame.
Tanjiro stayed quiet and raised an eyebrow, watching with curiosity and confusion as the other "framed" the horizon for a few seconds.
"Nemi-san?"
The ex-Hashira did not answer immediately. His intense purple eyes were fixed on the valley stretching below the hill. His expression had become strange; still hard, but slowly softening into something deep, almost melancholic.
When he finally lowered his hands, he let out a slow breath through his nose.
"Sometimes I came here," Sanemi said, his rough voice low and drawn out. "To remind myself… I needed to believe there was something worth it. That there was something beyond my hatred as motivation."
Tanjiro remained silent as he listened, his eyes taking in every detail of the other as if it were something new: the slow breathing, the completely relaxed shoulders in a way he had never seen before, and—
"When I die, I want my ashes here."
The sentence hit Tanjiro like a hard punch to the stomach. He grimaced and, in an almost childish gesture, let out an indignant groan.
"There you go talking about death again, Nemi-san…!"
A half-smile twisted Sanemi's lips, simple and mocking.
"I'm past twenty-five, brat. Tomorrow is unpredictable."
THUD.
The silence of the hill was broken by the sound of splintering wood. Inosuke, chest heaving beneath his open black haori, delivered a brutal kick to the thick, already cut log, sending it flying off the ground as if it weighed nothing.
A deep, furious growl escaped his throat; rough and animalistic, dissipating into a white mist when his hot breath met the cold air.
The log spun through the air, hovering for seconds.
And he breathed.
SHHHIK.
The katanas crossed in an arc, fast and hungry. The blade cut through the air with precise violence, and the log split with a sharp crack, fragmenting into rectangular pieces that fell like an uneven rain onto the hard earth.
Aoi and Kanao moved silently, gathering the pieces and stacking them efficiently around the base of the improvised pyre, a sturdy and carefully assembled structure.
On the other side, Zenitsu, with a serious expression and hands trembling slightly, helped Nezuko adjust the ropes that secured the white cloths around the former Hashira's body. Together, they lifted him and placed him with extreme care onto the bed of firewood, the final step of the preparations.
While the group worked, Tanjiro remained a short distance away, his back to them. His mismatched eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the first streak of golden light finally began to tear through the sky, announcing dawn.
He could see, but he saw nothing; his mind was far away. He had been lost in his own thoughts more than usual lately.
"Brother."
When Nezuko called him, Tanjiro finally turned...
His face was serene.
He walked toward the pyre with steady steps, stopping a few meters away. His right hand instinctively adjusted the sling supporting his immobile left arm, which swayed slightly with the movement. The gentle wind on the hill stirred his checkered haori, whispering against his skin.
Sun Breathing...
The black-steel nichirin blade slid from its sheath without a sound, cutting the air in a smooth, graceful horizontal arc.
As his feet glided softly over the earth, the steel caught the first rays of the rising sun and seemed to condense them, shining with an intense, flame-like brilliance, a fragment of the very star he carried within himself.
And, like a dance, his body turned. A single, discreet breath of flame ignited at the tip of his katana, advancing over the wood with the smoothness of a blade cutting through water.
For an instant, nothing happened. Only the nearly imperceptible crackle of the first embers.
Then the fire rose and spread; not with a violent roar, but with a contained, calm vigor, slowly embracing the pyre and Sanemi's body with a heat that seemed to purify the air.
Tanjiro exhaled slowly and deeply. He lowered the katana and returned it to its sheath in a smooth motion.
The fire burned everything into ashes.
The wind blew, carrying them away, scattering the last traces of a man who was no longer there.
And the wind did not stop. It traveled for days, months, years, crossed generations, until it reached a time when the world was no longer the same.
In a new era, a woman gave birth to a child who emitted light from their entire body.
People began to develop extraordinary abilities, and the world became even more unprecedented.
On November 29, on a rainy day in the city of Odawara, a child was born with white hair and strangely well-defined eyelashes like those of his mother, Yuki, and the purple eyes of his father, Togashi Midoriya.
He was the couple's only child, and from the moment he took his first breath, he felt that he was forgetting something.